


Not All Who Wander Are Lost

by CapnTytePantz



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-05-14 11:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnTytePantz/pseuds/CapnTytePantz
Summary: This is the archive of a Guardian, the God Slayer, chronicled by his ghost and entombed within the throne world of Mara Sov, a reliquary of the greatest threat to her reign...and her greatest ally. Learn the story of a soldier, far from home.  Hear and know that the death of gods is the birth of another. "And what is the measure of a god, oh reader mine? Is it the scope of their power, or how they choose to wield that power?" (One Voice in Thousands)From Author: Please, leave feedback. This is a growing/evolving work. Obviously we don't have all the pieces, yet, so some things may change and develop in new arcs. I welcome your input, as fellow readers and writers. ^_^





	1. Summer Showers

Jets of water washed the sweat off his body. He could feel every drop. It was electrifying, each one sending a pulse through his nerves and to his brain, connections that had been dead and gone for so long. He stared at his feet, as the water cascaded around his neck and ran down his muscular form. He marveled at his limbs, no longer withered and lifeless. They were his, really his! How long had it been since the bombing took his legs? How long since the shrapnel ripped through his spine, forever severing the nerves? How long since the fire seared his skin and locked his sense of touch in a world of torment? It had been decades since he could stand on his own in a shower, feeling droplets of water gently pummel his skin and wash away the day's grime. 

Then there were arms, snaking around his torso to embrace him. He melted into the embrace, savoring the intimate contact with another being. How long since he'd felt this most basic of connections with another person? After the bombing, the wars, he was a withered husk, no longer the man he had been. His family and friends had left him. His parents had already passed away. His children could not stand to look at him, as scarred as he was, with tubes to help drain the infected parts of his body or a bag to carry his shit. They loved him, he knew it, but he terrified them. He was a gruesome reminder of their own mortality. His mind was also fractured. He had a hard time telling friend from foe, with his limited vision and the chaotic memories flashing before him, more vivid than reality. Only his battle buddies had stayed with him, through thick and thin, until he was torn from that world. He thanked them, in his heart, and wished them well on their own journeys.

"Feels good, huh, sugar?" dripped the words from behind his back. "Been too long since I could enjoy a nice, lazy shower. Been longer since I could enjoy some company," she said as she pressed in to him and he felt her soft, playful embrace. Her voice was like warm, summer mollases, sweet and velvetty smooth, with just a little twang to excite your tongue. He swore she even smelled like the best blackstrap his "Meemaw" used to pour over his cornbread, when he was little. It did not matter how much grease and grit stuck to her, after long hours in the hangar, she looked like the tallest glass of ice-cold sweet tea and smelled like the best parts of summer, to him. He could see her, clear as day. No more flashes. No more confusion. This world had become more real than he could ever imagine. He didn't know if it had been the custom neural interface his buddy had bootlegged for him, the EMDR therapy his friend had inserted into the software to mellow out his episodes, or the simple fact that he was no longer in his own world, having been miraculously transported across time and space to become...himself, his real self.

Most likely it was the latter, as a full transposal across universes could likely do a lot more than just move his mind from point to point. He still had flashes, but they were tempered by the steady input of a reality he could finally interact with. He didn't mind the intermittent pain of death that came with his new role in this world, as it was nothing compared to the constant agony of his former, mangled body. It was almost cathartic, for him. He no longer felt the gnawing guilt of surviving that bombing, while many of his borthers and sisters had perished, and having to watch, through bandages as others winced and grimmaced at his grotesque appearance. Even after that, visiting the graves of his friends, those who had transcended the mortal realms and left him there to rot in a broken shell, he could not relinquish his guilt. It wasn't his fault. He hadn't set the bombs or failed to notice, during the convoy. It just happened, and they were all caught in it. It didn't lessen the pain, however. The pain of seeing those comrades turned to bloody chunks of charred meat, in an instant. The pain of seeing the faces of their loved ones, mourning their loss and avoiding eye contact with him. Now he could die, over and over for others. He could save them. Death meant nothing to him, now. It was a fleeting pain compared to his previous lifetime, a price he gladly paid, repeatedly, so that others might live.

He breathed a sigh of satisfaction, and a twinge of determination caused his muscles to tense. "Something wrong, Sugar?", she asked, sweetly. "Nothin'," he replied, absentmindedly. "Nuh-uh! No lyin'. I may work on engines all day, but I know people, too," she quipped. "Doesn't take a Warlock to see somethin's on your mind." He chuckled and placed a hand on her arms around his waist. "Ya got me there, Ams," he sighed in defeat, turning to face her. "Never could fool ya." She rested her head against his glistening chest, with a smug smile of satisfaction on her face, as he continued. "Seems Cayde needs a hand with a favor. Just wonderin' what it's all about." He knew. Knew it was coming, for a while, since his first breath. She absentmindedly traced unseen patterns between the droplets upon his chest with her fingers, blissfully ignorant of his deeper brooding, and replied, "There! Wasn't so hard, hmm? Cayde always did have an eye for trouble. Seems he trusts you enough to help. Might see if you can keep his metal can outta the fire, this time. You might even have fun." She winked. He smiled, while his heart sank.

She was everything summer to him. Freckles like the generous dusting of cinnamon on a fresh apple pie, hair like a mountain of sweet straw, strong body for swimming in the river after a long day in the fields, and the faintest smell of wild flower honey mixed with the sweat of a hot summer day. The rest of her was plenty enjoyable too, but something about her smile and the spirit of summer that seemed to follow her everywhere simply captivated him. She caught him staring and asked, playfully, "What? You keep ogglin' a gal like that and she might get the wrong idea." He pulled her close, pressing their wet bodies together and growled, "Or the right one." He winked, this time, and she bit his chin, playfully. "Oh no ya don't. I gotta get to work, and you've got a whole mess of mischief to take care of, ain'tcha?" She wriggled out of his grip and dashed away from the shower, as he gave her a playful slap on her fleeing buttocks. What was that country song, again? He "hated to see her go, but he loved to watch her leave." She was everything summer, to him, and he'd raze kingdoms to keep her and humanity safe.

As his resolve returned to him, he felt a buzzing in his hand. His ghost wanted to have words, but was waiting for her to leave. He stepped away from the streams of water but kept the shower running to muffle any words the ghost may have for him. "Yes?", he asked, as the little AI materialized. "Hmph! Took you two long enough." There was an edge of annoyance to his voice, beyond just being ignored for what he felt was too long. "I'm not gonna ruin her morning, just because we have business." He took another longing look over his shoulder at her in the other room, getting ready for the day. "You know you shouldn't," the ghost chided. "Shouldn't what?", he retorted. "Shouldn't be engaging in physical activities with anyone, especially not a guardian? Shouldn't be forming any lasting relationships with mortals?" His reply was harsher than he intended. They were both on edge and blinked their apologies at one another. "Look", the ghost started, "I know you're different - VERY different - from any other guardian, but..." "She knows," he interupted. "No, she suspects," the ghost corrected. "I'm really the only one that knows. Your knowledge and memories are part of me, now. We share this archive, together." 

He sighed and nodded. He knew things were different for both of them. Things were already different for all of them. The more he tried to keep to the norm, the more he was put at odds with himself and what he knew. She was his only anchor, however. She was the one person he could be himself with. She had no connections, no ulterior motives, other than helping others and being chummy with the Vanguard. As long as she had engines to work on and people to laugh with, she was happy. He wanted to see her happy, and that was what tore at him most, because he knew what was coming next. They had retaken the City. The Traveler was awake, and everyone was looking forward to a better future. Only he and his ghost knew the heartbreak that was about to befall them all. Even those who didn't know the Hunter Vanguard, personally, would feel the loss in the faces of others, in what it meant to see a hero fall. He knew it was necessary. The murder would be a rallying cry to all the guardians. It would be a far-flung pebble, sending ripples across the system, but it would hurt deeply and dearly, all the same.

In that moment, he cursed himself for this second life. The plans he had set in motion, the deals he had made, and the cabals he had built in order to better prepare humanity for what was to come could not prepare anyone for this inevitability. He couldn't see a way around it. It was a pivotal point. To avoid it would mean to avert a great many necessary eventualities. He began to drift in his memories, recalling the first moments. Then it all came rushing back, heralded by a thousand voices...


	2. Waxing Poetic

"Pain...searing pain and then darkenss. There were screams in the darkness, like a song of sorrow and suffering. Then there was a light that pierced the darkness. Like a beacon, it called to me, dancing on the periphery of the abyss. I swam towards it. Well, I assume I swam. I didn't know if I had arms or legs. The darkness was so complete, so absolute, that it swallowed my senses. I thought I was moving them, my invisible limbs. I willed them to move. After spending what seemed like an eternity in a dark sea of screams, you want to get out. You look for anything to set your bearings on, and you _will_ the vessel to move across the expanse, closer to the glimmer of hope you'd give up everything to achieve, to reach...reach! There they were. I saw fingers, or silhouettes of fingers, at least, stretching out to touch the expanding ember of hope. They cast shadows across arms attached to hands that bore the fingers before me. I stretched out across an impossible expanse, willing myself forward, willing myself back into being, to reach the light. I stretched for what seemed like an eternity expanding beyond countless millenia, ribbons of time and space, stretching across infinity...and then, 'Flash!' The point was reached. The distance had closed and collapsed and everything tumbled into myself. The reality I had known exploded and then imploded, as tangible things collapsed into my consiousness, and I tumbled back into a world I had forgotten or...had I ever known this, before?

I'm unsure, now. It seems familiar, but this little thing floating around me, dancing in the air with such excitement is foreign to me. These metal skeletons around me also seem familiar. I've known these...vehicles before. Some things I know, as if I've always known or had learned a long time ago, but other things are strange. Ah! So many things flooding into my solitude, my singular consciousness, things I am aware of, now. The screams fade, replaced by a different reality, just as tangible, yet somehow not. It is becoming more tangible. My...sight is focusing. I can see more clearly. I breathe. The air is cold and dry. I taste...metal and dirt. I see...light. It's everywhere! It is gloriously blinding, so warm, so much more fulfilling than the darkness I had abandoned. I had forgotten warmth. I had known it once before, and now I know it, again. Unlike the piercing, enveloping darkness, the hungering void, this was warm and welcoming. It promised potential, futures beyond reckoning. It carried such harsh truths and realities, but it boasted so much more...life...vibrant, invigorating life! There was an order and a system, rules set into the fabric of this reality, but as intangible as muons and gluons to a goldfish. Infinite realities converging and expanding, hanging on the event horizons of infinitely more possibilities. I had arrived within one of these realities. I was alive, and this thing...this 'ghost' was to be my guide, but who was _I?_  Shadows and whispers within those shadows called to me, spoke of who I was, things I should remember. Things I remembered, once, swirling around my clouded mind, as I grasped at answers.

No time for that now, however. 'Fallen are coming', my ghost tells me. I must follow my ghost, follow this light, and will myself forward. I must move, to carve a path towards hope, and leave my prints, my mark upon this world. I am real. I am tangible, once more. I am an anomaly in this sea of causality. I have substance and weight. Space and time now swirl around me. I will make my impact. I will affect the continuum, but first, I must move..."

"Snrrk! Jeezy-Pete, dude! I'm pretty sure all I said was, 'Well, shit! This ain't Texas.'" He had looked up from his terminal, as the rambling narrative caught his attention. A barely-contained laugh twisted his face into a comical grimmace, but he coughed to clear his expression and gave a playful wink. The little guy was a bit of a poet and rather sensitive about critique. However, his guardian's straightforwardness, when he was being cordial, was disarming, even to an uptight ghost, and they had developed something of a sibling banter between one another.

They had infiltrated the basement of the archives, thanks to his unique knowledge, and were working to modify anything pertaining to his existence. It was tedious work in a highly restricted area, but he knew the tip about a certain MIA hunter, who might be digging around the archives, looking for any material related to the Brays and Braytech facilities, would be enough to keep Zavala's spy out of his hair long enough. He smiled to himself, his memories, and wished them happiness. He only had to worry about a random Hidden agent or someone from the Praxic Order showing up. He was confident, however, that they could finish their work and leave unnoticed, but his ghost was another matter. "Doc" as he liked to call him, was flitting about the terminals, gathering and compiling the data. He had a nervous habit of rambling while he worked. Lately, Doc had become obsessed with waxing poetic about his guardian's origins and had started making an unofficial chronicle of his own musings, in something of an epic or a ballad. It was cute, but he'd never admit it to Doc.

"Well, we'll never know, _Guardian_ ," his ghost replied, "since you had me start deleting all of my cached data concerning you, shortly after your memories came back." Doc wasn't even looking at him. He was engrossed in the work and replying in an over-the-shoulder manner, with a bit of his usual annoyed tone at having his ramblings interrupted, which often derailed his concentration.

"First off, it's 'Lamont Sol' or whatever it is the outlanders call me, in this persona," he chided. "'Sixer'", Doc chirped with annoyance, while remaining focused on his work. "Yeah, that!', Lamont replied with mock smugness. "And second, can ya blame me?! If the Praxic Order, the Speaker, or really anyone other than our little cadre ever found out who and what I am...well, I'd rather not poke that bear, to be honest," he intoned with a nudge, illiciting a frustrated sigh from Doc.

"Yes, _Lamont_ , I understand. Your knowledge and your very existence are a dangerous anomaly. I'm suprised Queen Mara let you walk out of her court, at all, considering...well, besides the obvious," Doc said with a knowing sideways glance. "Also, your views and opinions, not to mention your unique abilities, could be seen as heretical by the Order _and_ the Speaker." At this, Doc shuddered. "It's a bit overwhelming, this game of shadows. With all these memories, terabytes of data, swirling around in my mind, I can only imagine what it's like inside YOUR head. I'm having trouble gathering and extracting the fragments that pertain specifically to you, scrubbing them, and then modifying all relevant data about your existence. Hopefully, before anyone catches on, you will be nothing more than a whisper, per your request, of course." At this, Doc almost seemed depressed. The little ghost was a sponge for knowledge and took great pleasure in scanning and cataloguing new discoveries along their adventures.

"Excellent, and sorry, little buddy," he said, genuinely. "I know this is a lot more than you bargained for, when we met. I'm still not sure why I'm even here. According to your historical data and my recolections of the game, it doesn't make sense. Even if my world was this world, many centuries ago, I would never have come in contact with the Traveler's light. I shouldn't be 'rez-able'...but here I am, all the same, and I'm scratchin' my head as to why." He pulled away from the terminals and placed his hands upon his hips, staring at all the data across multiple screens and then looking beyond to the server racks they were accessing simultaneously to speed up this process. He wasn't really looking at anything, and Doc knew it. He was looking beyond, like he often did, to someplace within his mind, searching for an answer amongst the swirling probabilities.

"I could think of a few reasons!" chimed Doc. "If this world is as similar in lore and function to the game you used to play in your world, then you may have valuable insight into what is to come. You could almost, literally, predict the future and entirely prevent certain events from even happening! That's just...I mean...Oh my head, again!" Doc broke contact from the terminals, as the shared knowledge seemed to overwhelm him, like before.

"Easy there, bud," he said, reassuringly, and reached out a hand to steady his little compainion. "Yeah, the similarities are too uncanny. Hell! I knew exactly where that Captain was gonna pop out, and I put a bullet right between his optics. I knew exactly what the Speaker was gonna say, as well as the stranger..."

"Yeah, you could have stopped her from calling me 'Little Light'," Doc grumbled and sulked.

"Haha! I dunno 'bout that. Kinda suits you, kiddo," he teased, playfully. He knew it irked his ghost, but it also seemd to spur him on, in a good way.

"Hey! I'm older than you!" Doc quipped.

"Only in terms of years, bud," he stated, while crossing his arms and rolling his shoulders to loosen up his gear a bit. "In experience, both in my world and this one, too, apparently, I've got the market cornered." The new equipment he had pieced together still didn't seem to fit right, and he began to pick at it, readjusting the straps and stretching to help it settle. He had shut off his Void cloak to conserve energy, but the transition always left him feeling like there were spiders crawling all over and he would absentmindedly fidget from time to time, in response to this disturbing sensation. "I think I'd even make Toland lose what's left of his marbles, with all the stuff I know about throne worlds and Hive magic," he said, tugging at one of the straps and wriggling a bit, as one particularly crawly phantom-spider crept down his back.

"I'm sorry...what?" Doc asked, spinning around to face him.

"Oops! Never mind. We'll find out about him later. Probably later than I'd like, but it seems there are some things in this world that need to happen," he said, dissmissively but with a twinge of regret.

"I hate it when you do that...", Doc grumbled.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Mention something and then tell me to 'nevermind', because you don't want to go into detail or because you're keeping something from me or whatever!" The little ghost was flitting about, in an agitated manner. "It's just...it's annoying, and it makes me feel...untrustworthy." Doc was pouting.

"Oh...hey my bad, bud," he said, consolingly. He thought of his children, when he had been a little too harsh or dismissive with them. "I don't mean it that way. It's just...there's some things I just don't wanna say, like saying them will make them real, or something," he stated, pensively. "There's gonna be a lotta bad stuff coming. I almost don't want them to happen, but I don't know if I can avoid them all. And talking about them feels like a curse, like making the intangible future suddenly tangible."

"What do you mean?" Doc asked, now concerned.

"I mean that my foresight is limited and everything I do creates a new probability, a new reality," he stated with frustration. "I played a game that was somehow based on the events of this world, before they happened, but they all happened in a certain way. I had no way to truly affect the outcomes. I played and won, repeatedly, or the story didn't progress. Oh god, the grind!" he groaned and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Here and now, however, my actions or inaction have real, tangible effects, completely altering the timelines and sequence of events as I know it."

"True...I'll never forget the look on Uldren's face," Doc remarked. "I don't think he has ever been bested by a guardian, before. I wonder if we'll ever be invited back?"

"Ha! That little prick had it coming," he said, rubbing his knee. Doc had healed him, of course, like reversing time almost, but there was always a phantom pain associated with his more poignant injuries. "It was only a love tap, anyway," he continued. "Feel kinda bad, though. Despite how he acts towards us, now, he doesn't deserve what happens to him later...well, not mostly. Just another victim of royal schemes."

"...IF it happens to him later, you mean," Doc goaded.

"There! Exactly my point!" he exclaimed. "I may have drastically altered how things turn out from now on. Butterfly effect and all that," he said, returning to the terminals and running a backup scan to see if they had missed anything. "I mean, I have a feeling that won't change things too much, at least not the major things, but I might've made things a little sticky for us, concerning the Queen and her little bro."

"And by 'major things you mean...?!" Doc asked, over his shoulder. "No...that one, there. That needs to be edited."

"Ya know! The 'major things'," he said, distractedly, while trying to input the correct functions and make the final edits, "like the Darkness in the Garden, the fight with Crota and Oryx, the Red War, and..."

"And? And what?!" Doc asked, becoming more flustered, flitting about, making further corrections in the data.

"Nothin', little guy," he sighed. "Some things are better not knowing. It's like an infinite burden, more torment than boon, to be sure. No, I've made up my mind," he said, standing tall and giving a nod to their work. "If I'm stuck here, I'm gonna live my life, as best I can, but I'm gonna do EVERYTHING I can to make things better than I could, before."

"Hmph! You say 'before', but it hasn't happened yet," Doc said, cocking his shell to one side in his way of smirking.

"Yeah...not yet," he agreed, "but I'm thinking some things may, some things must, and other things...those I can change, and that might make all the difference...Anyway, you might have a point," he said, entering some commands into a Golden Age device and then removing it from the terminal. "Might need to make an accurate record of my existence and keep it locked away, somewhere."

"What? Why?! I thought you said to scrub everything," Doc exclaimed in exasperation and began buzzing around trying to get a good look at the device he had pulled.

"Well, yeah," he said, playfully keeping the device out of the ghost's vision but without any real intent to conceal it. "But I dunno if I'll live forever, here. Someone may need to know about all this. Who's to say that someone reading these records isn't the person who summoned me here, in the first place? I mean, I don't think that's the case, considering what I remember, but you never know. Also...it's nice to leave something behind, something for others to find like an Easter Egg, somewhere down the road. Maybe by then it won't matter what I am or was or even will be."

"Hmmm...I suppose...", Doc conceded, stopping his pursuit of the device and returning to his guardian's shoulder.

"'Sides, ya got the intro all wrong," he said with a sideways wink and holding up a recording device in his other hand.

Doc flared his shell in surprise. "Oh? How so?" he asked and then realized his ramblings had been recorded. "Hey! No fair!"

"Well for one," he said, overtly placing the recording device along with a handheld computer under his poncho, before activating his cloak, "I didn't really feel anything. All I remember is her and the voice in a sea of thousands..."


	3. Ripples

He approached her, silhoetted against the luminous shell of the Traveler, hovering beyond the ledge of the tower hangar. She did not turn. She watched the spectacle below, as the Speaker's words reverberated up and into their perch. "It's a day for pretty speeches and medals," she said, then turning, "but we know the real fight takes place out there."

"That we do," he stated, coming to stand before her. He continued, with a wry grin, "You always stand so resolute, something-something great things moving, blah-blah lesser things watching."

She cocked her head at faintly familiar words. "Take this," she said, handing over her rifle to his care. He took it, turning it in his hands, checking the action, the chamber, feeling the weight and balance of it.

"Nice rifle!" he affirmed. "Many makers, many times, yours, another's, yours again, and then mine," he stated, shouldering it and then nodding to Doc. "I got you a 'timely' present, as well, to keep her safe." He held up his hands, into which his ghost deposited a opalescent bow that seemed to shimmer with its own light and a set of armor, adorned with ornaments of the Awoken and the Dreaming City. He held them out to her, bound together with patterned cloth and shimmering star-string, also from the Dreaming City.

"Who...What?" she stammered, accepting the gift in bewilderment.

"Unlike you, I've got time," he said with a smirk, and then continued. "This is Wish Ender, the bow of Sjur Eido. I'm sure she'll know, and these are specially made for that bow. Makes it so you could draw that string in an instant and hold it taught forever. Added a few extra, personal touches. I know she's got a thing for bows, this one, especially." He chuckled and ran his hand over the bow, one last time, with tenderness.

"I don't..." she started to say, trying to make sense of something that for the first time in a long time had caught her by surprise.

"Look...I know there is so much more, Elsie..." Her eyes shot up from the equipment in her arms, wide with surprise and tinged with fear. He smiled, comfortingly, conveying peace and safety in his own eyes. "I've seen the terrible things born out in the Darkness, and I know that every moment brings them closer. Don't worry. I'll be keeping this safe, as well," he said, pointing to the sword on his back, slung beside the rifle she had just given him. She recognized its make and function. She knew her own handiwork. He held his easy smile, with a knowing look in his eyes, and continued, "If you'd like, I could pass it along to your sister. Might even help her with what's coming."

"How do you know..." She was almost speechless, at this point. Words, even thoughts, only came in brief, unfinished clips across her lips.

"About you? About all this?...You're not the only one 'out of time'. Actually, I'm a little bit more than that. I'm also out of place," he said, listfully drifting off into his own thoughts, for a moment, and then snapping back to the present, abruptly. "Anyway, I'm sure you've got places to be, worlds to save, and such," he continued, "but I hope this isn't the last time we talk. Like you told me, before: 'All ends are beginnings. Our fight is far from over.' Right?" He winked, and she smiled back, allowing herself to relax, if only for a brief moment. "Oh! One more thing," he said, with a cheerful melancholy. "Say 'Hi' to her, for me, huh? I'll answer her call, as always. I'll break the curse. It's one reason I'm here, I think. You want me to pass along any messages to Anna?" he asked, cocking a sideways glance, as if to the future itself.

"Hmm...No," she stated, looking to the lovingly-bound gifts with renewed wonder, as a sudden recollection of familial love washed over her. "Just watch over her, and try not to let her get into too much trouble."

"I'll do my best," he said, with a modest bow. "See ya 'round, 'Stranger'."

"Yes, you will...'Guardian'," she replied, her stoic resolve returning. She stepped out, off the ledge of the hangar, and dematerialized into ripples of time. He stood, waving and chuckling to himself. "Record 084-Bridge-10.7," he said for no one to hear but perhaps the ghost hovering about his shoulders. "'Something's here that's not supposed to be, other than myself. Will return.'" He smiled and spoke to the fading traces of tachyons and quantum dipoles. "That's a promise, Elsie. Be well..."


End file.
